


And in the end, you begin again

by towardsmorning



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Coming Out, Gen, Genderqueer Character, Post-Sburb, Queer Gen, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 21:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towardsmorning/pseuds/towardsmorning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(<i>Prompt: a genderqueer Jade helping trans girl Dave.</i>)</p><p>It's a new universe and you're new to match.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And in the end, you begin again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abcdefarachnid](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=abcdefarachnid).



> So this was a gift fic written in return for a favour from the lovely abcdefarachnid sometime last year! Ey wanted me to write about a genderqueer Jade helping a trans girl Dave with her identity. I put off posting it here for a while because I am terrified, terrified I say, of writing Dave- but in the end I seem to have made peace with the fact that the fucker is impossible to write with ease and just shoved it up here for the sake of completeness. Make of it what you will.
> 
> Contains: reference to dysphoria, a certain amount of implied internalized cissexism, teens being imperfect people in general and my attempt to show how much I love the Jade-Dave friendship.
> 
> (But for once, I will say: please no con-crit for characterisation and stuff. This was only my second Homestuck fic, and was written when I was less familiar with the canon. Any advice would, I think, be kind of outdated and likely not applicable to me by this point. The problem with posting fic six months after you write it, I suppose.)
> 
> Standard disclaimer: I am non-binary/transmasculine; I am not a trans woman. If anyone feels I have written anything problematic, they are free to whack me upside the head should they wish.

You are Jade Harley, and you are in the business of understanding your friends.  
  
For a long time you'd had to do it from a distance, of course. In its own way it had also proved to be a little bit of a problem; jokes wear thin when there's suspicion primed and ready behind them. You have a lot of patience, you have always had more patience than you know what to do with out of sheer necessity but even yours runs out in the end.  
  
But that isn't a problem now! It's been years since you were alone on Prospit, since enigmatic messages and your careful system of reminders and not-so-little white lies. All of that is behind you, left in another universe entirely, but you still kept your patience and with Dave, you think that's probably for the best. The thing you've found with Dave is that working against the current tends to lead you absolutely nowhere. You sort of have to push alongside and wait, wait, wait for an opening. They always come eventually.  
  
*  
  
You are Jade, because that's the name your grandfather gave you and you loved him. Jade Harley, and you love the name itself as well. It makes you think of green, green like the island you grew up on, green like the plants you pulled up from the ground, green like Bec. So yes, your name is Jade, and you think your name will stay that for the forseeable future. It would be silly to give up a name you liked. It would be easier, but it would be silly, and no matter what John insists you do try not to be silly. Not about important things, at least!  
  
And it _is_ important, though maybe it didn't used to be. When there was only you on the island, you were Jade and that was that, because it was hard to hold yourself in comparison to people you had never met, a category that encompassed more or less the entire human race. You knew there were boys and you knew there were girls and you knew that they were other people, essentially, nothing to do with you.  
  
Then you met your friends and that drove it home a little. You introduced yourself as Jade to John and he called you  a really cool girl! It'd been a long time since your grandpa died. You can't recall if he ever called you a girl. So this became the first time you felt a little scratch at your brain saying 'no, that's wrong'. But you had thought, _perhaps John won't understand._ He was from such a different place than you.  
  
So you just told him thanks and that he was a pretty cool dude too!!! , and let it drop for the moment.  
  
*  
  
The world you have all remade is not quite old and not quite young. You feel that more than any of them, Witch of Space until the end, and it feels like a tingle at the end of your fingers and static in your hair at unexpected moments. The universe began six months and three years ago, and is millions upon billions of years old. The difference clashes in a way that makes _you_ feel new, too, for the first time you can remember; when you try and explain to your friends, they think it's a problem, and you have to explain that _no, it's great!!!_ It's a new universe and you're new to match. You all built it up around the eight of you, instinctive and wild, and you feel as though you made a space to settle into. You fit perfectly; Jade. Just Jade.  
  
Dave, though. Dave feels out of sync. You saw it coming a mile off and waited out its approach, smiling all the while, and when you're finally told it face to face, albeit indirectly, you just smile wider. The two of you are on your island, quiet for the moment except for waves twenty feet away and the ever-present hum of insects.  
  
"Well," you say, watching your reflection in Dave's glasses, "we can talk about that if you like."  
  
"Shit, Harley," Dave drawls, and your smile becomes a grin because you know what's coming, "break out the nail polish and chick flicks."  
  
You cut in before it becomes the typical Strider circuitous ramble around the point. "Sure!"  
  
*  
  
You don't actually have any nail polish. You don't have any chick flicks either, because all the movies you have are things downloaded on Dave's or John's or Rose's reccommendations. This has resulted in a lot of terrible action movies, less terrible horror movies, and comedies.  
  
"It's a shame Karkat isn't around," you tease Dave.  
  
"He'd be getting his shipping chart on all night long," is what you get back, and you roll your eyes. You're pretty sure the horror you can hear is only partly faked.  
  
What you do have is an island and a huge house that is half uninhabitable from dust even after the game made it all shiny for you three and a half years ago. So when Dave comes to stay for a while, you take to the beach and the forests and ignore all the protests about how "the frog crap was enough of the great outdoors for one lifetime". You push on ahead; Dave trails behind, never shutting up. The rambling is a nervous thing, you know. You punctuate every now and again, but mostly you let Dave talk and you focus on clearing a path through the undergrowth where necessary. Bec hasn't been around to warn you away from places for a good while now, but you haven't been young enough to need it, either.  
  
By the time the sun is nearly set, you're both sprawled out against a tree, and Dave's grumbling aside, you feel wonderful. Your muscles ache from long, gentle exercise and your mind feels as clear as you could hope for. Dave has pushed those ridiculous glasses up for once, giving in when confronted with the sheer darkness of the island, even considering the flashlight you've brought. You're home, and you have company, even if said company is being a whiny fuckass right now, and you say as such on both counts.  
  
"You really know how to charm a girl," Dave says, eyelashes fluttering, all sarcasm, but your heart picks up in your chest. That's an offering if you ever saw one, for a Strider. You look over and giggle.  
  
"Yup," you say, reaching a hand out to put over Dave's pale one, exaggeratedly careful for the sake of keeping things lighthearted. "Only the best for Miss Strider!"  
  
You wonder if it's the right time to say it; the right thing to say. Dave squeezes your hand once and then pulls away. There's silence, or at least, what sounds like silence on an island full of rustling trees and brisk wind.  
  
"Hey, Dave," you say after a moment basking in that quiet. "Can I tell you something?"  
  
*  
  
You haven't ever hated your body. You're tall and thin and what Roxy called 'flat as a board'. Six foot precisely now, with a wiry strength and brown skin covered in scars you like to make up stories for when people ask. But you don't think you'd have minded a different one, either! The thought comes to mind sometimes and is entertained like an old friend. Short, curvy, stocky, muscular, whatever people call male. They're all interesting possibilities, even if they aren't what you ended up with. It's a little like your name, really. It never seemed important. Bodies are neat and fun and your own is an old friend. It was the only one you ever saw for quite some time. That's all.  
  
Dave walks like things don't align quite right, you think. There isn't a suitable metaphor. Just awkwardness and discomfort- enough that it seems like there's room for hatred in there. So it isn't something you quite relate to, but it's something you think you can comprehend, a little. You haven't ever hated your body, but you don't think you'd have minded a different one, so you tell Dave that and watch the gears tick behind those shades.  
  
"Huh," is all you actually get back, but you can tell there's more to come. So you settle back into the waiting game.  
  
*  
  
The two of you strife.  
  
Dave's told you about strifing with Bro and you've seen Dirk have a go at it once or twice as a stand-in, but you don't go in for anything as fancy as that yourself. You can't use your gun in close quarters, anyway, and sword-versus-fists is unfair! So you grapple and wrestle when neither of you knows the first thing about hand to hand, and afterwards you lie on the grass and feel a little looser. Hopefully Dave feels the same.  
  
This time, you've won. It's taken you a good long while, because you have a few inches on Dave but Dave is heavier and has better arm muscles from all that swordfighting. Eventually you're triumphant. There's blood on your knuckles and you think you pulled something in your leg, which will need dealing with, but Dave seems to be nothing more than winded and a little embarrassed after you clamber off.  
  
"Damn it, Jade," comes the monotone, betrayed by the fact you can hear panting, "what did my ribs ever do to you?"  
  
"Aww, do you want a hug?" you ask, flopping down onto the grass.  
  
"Fuck no, I've been on the end of your hugs before," Dave says, "that shit is traumatising. Rose with a psychology textbook levels of trauma. My ribs have had enough. Anything more and they're gonna start having flashbacks."  
  
"Woooow," you draw out, teasing, "I'm that good, huh?"  
  
You get a grunt in reply.  
  
"So, do you feel any better?" you ask, because anyone could have seen that Dave hadn't before; really, you know that you won in part because frustration makes fights sloppy and anger makes fights rash. Perhaps it's wishful thinking, but you really believe it helped, looking at the body sprawled out in the grass. You hope so! Dave doesn't accept words from you. Maybe actions are a little closer to OK.  
  
Dave's silent for a while.  
  
"Thanks," comes at you out of the blue, and you tilt your head.  
  
"For kicking your ass?"  
  
"Yeah, I needed that."  
  
"You are so _weird_ ," you laugh, and punch Dave in the shoulder.  
  
*  
  
Both of you have a lot of scars the game didn't see fit to do away with; some from before, some from during, and even a couple from after. One on your stomach, two on your thighs, one on a calf, a tiny one on your cheek. Dave has more, scrapes and slashes from a lifetime filled with swords and concrete rooftops. You spend a night pointing at them and listening to the stories, ninety percent of which are complete bullshit and make you laugh. You offer some of your own back, all true. They're not as funny, but you like being frank about them anyway. It's refreshing.  
  
"We're a couple of badasses," Dave says.  
  
"Chick magnets," you agree, "-they like scars, right?"  
  
"I'm banning you from watching those films Egbert sends you. All this pop culture is rotting your brain, Harley, it's goddamn tragic."  
  
"I'll be your wingman!"  
  
"Stop."  
  
"We can go... sailing."  
  
"Stop it."  
  
"No, cruising. In a convertable! They dig cars too, right?"  
  
"Never got the appeal."  
  
"Well, you're not-" you feel more than see the way Dave's shoulders tighten. "-the only girl in the world, Dave!"  
  
"...Guess not," you get as a mumbled response.  
  
There's a tingle in your hands, your neck, your spine. You know that it's anticipation, but it feels so much like the newness of your world that you look at Dave and think, _there's something new in you, as well_. It's lovely. So is Dave. Your patience, you think, has run its course.  
  
"Just to be sure," you say, tone light, "that's right, right?"  
  
Dave nods. "Sure."  
  
"Oh, good."  
  
"Just," she says, mouth twisting. "Just don't tell Lalonde. I'm never gonna hear the end of it."  
  
"Cross my heart," you swear. You keep your face solemn.  
  
"I mean it," she says.  
  
"Can we pinky swear?" you say, grinning widely. "I've always wanted to do that!"  
  
"I'm a girl, not a five year old," Dave says, but she's grinning too, just a small flash of teeth and a quirk of the lips that tells you that you did the right thing.  
  
*  
  
You watch Alien vs. Predator and colour Dave's nails in with felt tips you scrounged up, feeling proud of yourself.  
  
"I promised!" you say as she raises an eyebrow at your insistence, picking up the green and grabbing for her hand. The other one bats at you, but you cling on tight and start to scribble at a nail. It looks sort of ridiculous, but the colour is pretty and you're pretty sure that it'll look nice if you keep trying!  
  
"You promised me chick flicks, not fuckin' alien pornos. All these dicks everywhere. Lemme guess, this was from Lalonde?"  
  
"Ewww, Dave!" you slap her hand. "And it was from her _and_ John."  
  
"He likes the shitty, she likes the facehuggers. Match made in heaven."  
  
"Stop it!"  
  
In retaliation for images you _did not need_ you make a lunge for her face with the pen- she grabs your wrist, and the film is forgotten while you wrestle, first to get your pen back, then to draw the wonkiest hearts possible on her cheeks.  
  
"See," you say, sitting back happily and looking at your handiwork. "Chick flicks and nail polish was a great idea!"  
  
"All those stories about girly sleepovers," she says, shades knocked askew. "missed out the best bits, apparently."  
  
"Of course they did," you say smugly, ignoring her sarcasm and turning your attention back to the screen. Whatever's happening on screen is violent and you don't think it matters much that you lost track of the plot about five minutes in. "Mine are the _best._ "  
  
*  
  
When it's finally time for Dave to leave, she spends the whole day full of anxious energy and tries to hide it by barely getting out of bed. You'd be annoyed if a little part of you wasn't a bit worried, so instead three hours before she's due to leave you bounce into bed with her and curl up under the covers. She squawks but relents, grumbling, and you poke her in the stomach. The shades are firmly in place today. "Can you even see under here?"  
  
"Stop yapping, Harley," she says, and you flick an ear playfully in response; it brushes her cheek and she shoves you, startled.  
  
"So no, then," you giggle. "What's up?"  
  
"Can't a guy get some sleep without being slobbered all over," she grumbles, and a little red light flicks on in your head. You poke her again.  
  
"I do _not_ slobber, we already had this argument!" you say, frowning. "And I won! We agreed, right after I sat on you." There's a pause, and you chew your lip. "That's not what's up though, come on, Dave! Tell me?"  
  
She's laid down next to you, coiled tight and defensive. It hasn't been so bad since the day she got here, you think.  
  
"Maybe you could just tell them instead," you offer, unwilling to dance around things. She doesn't ask what you mean, but you see the shape of her eyebrows raise under her glasses. Dave is not a guy on your island, and really, you and she both know she isn't anywhere else. But Dave has too much experience hiding these things, and too little experience being upfront with the people she cares about.  
  
"Sure, that'd go down smooth as buttered baby ass," she retorts, and you restrain your eye-rolling at her choice of words. "Egbert would be dragging me out bra shopping in a heartbeat. Just don't wanna have to deal with your perv of a bro, Jade. Wouldn't be able to keep his hands off me. It's self defense, a girl's gotta keep an eye out. Creeps everywhere."  
  
Lips pursed, you shake your head. "Daaaave, stop it! You're doing the thing where you're gross because you want me to stop talking to you! It's dumb and not going to work!!!"  
  
"That makes two things," she says, voice slipping into irritation just slightly. "This has been swell and dandy, Jade, shit. But face it-"  
  
"You're not listening!" you say, pulling a face and sitting up. The blanket dislodges above you and you squint at her in the sudden light. "I know it's hard, Dave! But if you just give up forever then you're just gonna keep being miserable, and when you're miserable you just push people away anyway!" Your voice gets higher and higher as you draw your knees to your chest. "You can't just leave it and expect nobody to notice. I'm pretty sure Rose will just work it out anyway, you _know_ what she's like, and what are you gonna do then? Huh?"  
  
She stares up at you, silent. You've knocked her glasses askew and you reach out to gently right them, deflating all at once. The words turn sour the moment they've left your mouth. A moment passes, then another, in silence.  
  
"Okay," she says abruptly and to your surprise, sitting up next to you. The blanket half falls away and you can see her face now, screwed up a little and more vulnerable than she'd like to admit.  
  
"Okay?"  
  
"Yeah," she says, and you know you're not going to get anything else out of her, plans and hows and whens- you're lucky to get two words instead of one from a Strider on an important thing like this. You're lucky she didn't just run off or start a fight. Generally, you think as you look at her, all hunched over and fierce looking right now, you are a very lucky person.  
  
"In that case," you say, grabbing for her hands and tugging when she tries to pull them out of your grip. "I guess I should probably do it too! I mean, formally. Whenever I tried before..." you trail off.  
  
"I get it," she says, still tugging but also smiling, just a little.  
  
"Exactly," you say. "If you can, then so can they, this time!"  
  
She tugs her hands away fully, but throws an arm around your shoulder afterwards, so you let it slide. There are still three hours before the boat arrives to take her away, and she has nothing left to pack; this will do, for the moment. Jade Harley and Dave Strider, though presumably that will change some day soon- perhaps not, though, because Dave has never been a conventional kind of girl. You sit in a room, on an island, in a world of your own making, and you let yourselves rest. Just for a little while.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from In The End, by Vanessa Carlton.


End file.
